


Hail Mary (Full of Grace)

by HaveAGoodeDay



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Asylum
Genre: Alternative Universe - No Bloodyface or Satan, F/F, Female Ejaculation, First Time, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Religious Conflict, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 07:02:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16868326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaveAGoodeDay/pseuds/HaveAGoodeDay
Summary: “You want me to pray with you?”Mary Eunice’s chin wobbles, she leads Lana further into the empty chapel, until they stand at the altar. Jesus on the cross hangs on the wall, staring down at the pair with indifference.“No, Miss Winters.”___All Sister Mary Eunice wanted was forgiveness for her sinful thoughts, and Lana Winters seemed like the perfect person to assist her.





	Hail Mary (Full of Grace)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first Lana/Mary story, and it's me, so it's smut. I'd like to thank AngelicRabe for proof-reading this, and TheFandomLesbian for writing the Bananun Bible and inspiring all my writing to be as good as her's.

“You want me to pray with you?”

 

Mary Eunice’s chin wobbles, she leads Lana further into the empty chapel, until they stand at the altar. Jesus on the cross hangs on the wall, staring down at the pair with indifference.

 

“No, Miss Winters.” The blonde reassures, after a year under the institution's care Lana’s dislike for daily prayer is a widely known fact. It’s landed her leaning over Jude’s desk many times, and some of them Mary was there to bear witness. The memory of the brunette’s rear has the younger woman shaking her head to clear the thought, guilt clawing at her throat. “I need assistance, I didn’t know who else to ask.”

 

Lana can’t help but soften her bitterness at the sight of Mary stumbling to explain herself; the nun possibly the only kind soul that walks the halls of Braircliff. Her blue eyes are watery, she sniffles and she looks quite desperate.

 

“I have sinned, and I need to repent for my actions and confess.”

 

The admission spikes Lana’s interest, but she remembers - this is Sister Mary - it’s probably nothing more than accidentally killing a spider. But her hands are wringing together, the smooth beads of her white rosary being run over again and again.

 

“You couldn’t ask Jude?”

 

Lana herself knows _why,_ the blonde very nearly walks out of her superior’s office with a tear streaked face and the inability to sit properly more than any patient does.

 

“I’m _afraid_ of what she would do,” Mary Eunice admits. Her cheeks blush red, bright against her pale skin. “Sister Jude cannot know of my impure thoughts, Miss Winters. You can’t tell her, _please_ don’t tell her.” Voice growing desperate toward the end, her panicked eyes meet brown ones.  

 

“I won’t.” Lana says, she thinks of how many times Mary has so kindly covered for her -  Distracted Jude from the journalist’s behavior, the unreported common room arguments. The mention of _impure thoughts_ pipes Lana’s interest, she implores, “What happened, Sister?”

 

Standing in the holy space, Mary looks over the way the colorful stained glass lets in tinted light, how it splashes across the patient in front of her’s plain blue dress, the way it bounces off Lana’s hair. She squeezes her eyes shut, and her confession comes as a sob as she speaks it aloud, “I’ve been feeling _lust,_ Miss Winters.”

 

Oh.

 

 _That’s interesting,_ is exactly what Lana thinks; watching this girl blubber at her own revelation. First, she wonders why she is the one that this information is being disclosed to. Sure, they’ve spent time together - playing checkers, working in the bakery side by side - but she hardly would call their relationship nothing larger than a small friendship born of circumstance. Second, she can’t help but be curious on why or _who_ is giving the virtuous Mary Eunice an awakening on her own needs.

 

The pause in their conversation is filled with an awkward air to it. Lana shifts on her feet, the absurdity of a _nun_ admitting she wants to break her chastity vow is certainly not what she’d expected of today. The shock of it has Lana’s filter down, and she can’t help but ask,

 

“Who? Who are you feeling _lust_ over?”

 

Mary Eunice has a fresh wave of tears collect on her waterline, they push out at the corners and droplets run down her cheeks that flush redder than Lana’s ever seen them. The blonde cringes, she remembers, _thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour._ She’s already sinned enough, and her lips part only slightly when she breathes out,

 

“You.”

 

The simple word is enough to knock the wind from Lana’s lungs. Her eyes widen, she stares at Mary’s worsening waterworks. But the confession breaks a dam, and a flood follows.

 

“I feel sinful, I look at you and I try to deny the Devil’s temptations but Miss W-Winters,” The nun hiccups, she speaks through her tears and swipes at her running nose with the back of her hand, “I do things, _horrible_ things that I should not. I have strayed off my path.”

 

There’s a knot in Lana’s throat, she clears it in hopes of settling whatever closes in on her (a sort of fog, like she can’t see anything but the black of Mary’s habit and the bangs peeking out from under her veil). Her voice is low, “Sister, I don’t think-”

 

“I can’t tell Sister Jude,” Her crying increases in volume, and the noise is bound to draw attention if she keeps it up, “She’ll have me r-removed from the or-order. You have to help me.”

 

“Help you with what?”

 

Mary’s face, splotchy and red and swollen, schools itself. She nods her head as she thinks, “I need to repent.” Her arm brushes against Lana’s as she walks past her, and resting on the front pew is a long, thick cane that’s wooden stem glints with red-tones under the light. The only thing Lana feels, when the younger woman pushes it into her palms, is the warmth of Mary’s fingers guiding her own into holding it.

 

“Sister J-Jude says,” Mary starts, she drops to her knees on the altar, hands coming up to clasp together, the beads of her rosary spilling out in between her fingers. “The only way to chase the devil out, is to punish the sin.”

 

For a moment, the blonde’s lips move silently, her forehead presses against her hands and she closes her eyes. Lana stands to the side, stares with horrified eyes as whatever prayer uttered under her breath ends, and Mary Eunice shifts her skirt up, pinning it up against the wooden bar she rests her elbows on.

 

“Ten-ten lashes,” The young blonde mumbles, pushing her white cotton underwear down until it bunches at her knees, “ten lashes, per decade. O-One for every _hail Mary.”_

 

Lana swallows hard, she flickers her eyes down and sees the wiry blonde curls of Mary’s center (it lights a fire she forgot about, and it makes her feel shame for seeing it in this poor girl). Then she looks at the rosary, Mary’s fingers on the cross of it. Her stomach churns.

 

“How many decades are there, Sister?”

 

“Five.”

 

“I can’t-”

 

“ _Please.”_ Mary begs, the sensible black shoes on her feet click against the floor as she moves them.

 

“That’s fifty, nobody deserves-”

 

“I-I do.” Mary grinds her teeth, her blubbering comes back with a vengeance. “I think about you, Miss Winters. I tuh-touch myself in the bath, and it burns like hellfire.” Her sniffling worsens, the blonde sounds desperate.

 

“That’s - you can’t control that.” Lana tries, she drops the canes on the floor, lets the cold handle slide out of her grasp. Looking at the young woman in front of her, there’s a horrible sense of pity overwhelming her senses. The sounds of her sorrow, a sad type of song playing out in the chapel’s emptiness. There’s thick, pink scars raised across her rear, running from her lower back to the tops of her knees. “You don’t have to punish-”

 

“Sister Jude says-”

 

“I don’t give a _shit_ what Sister _Jude_ says.” Lana bites out with more anger than she’d wanted to convey. She lets her hand go forward, places it on Mary Eunice’s shoulder. An idea forms in her head, and she starts slowly, “Do you think God hates me?”

 

Mary shakes her head so quickly, so hard that it must make her dizzy, “God doesn’t hate anyone, Miss Winters.”

 

“So why would he hate you?” Lana asks, and it makes the nun’s eyes gloss over with a cloud of confusion, stuck somewhere between a rock and Sister’s Jude’s brainwashing. Her nose runs, and the journalist wishes she’d had a handkerchief to wipe the snot away. She clears her throat, feeling herself blush a little, “You feel you sinned because you… you had feelings for someone?”

 

Mary nods.

 

“And it upsets you, that that someone is a woman.” Lana tries, she watches the younger blonde struggle with her dilemma. Somewhere, a patient screams bloody murder, but it’s nothing but a faint whisper in their secluded space.

 

“No.” Mary finally answers. Her tears have stopped, somewhat. They still cling to her cheeks, make them shine slightly in the light. “I feel sinful for wanting you - not because you are a woman - because you are not God. I am not allowed to want any of the things I want for with you.”

 

“What do you want?”

 

Big, blue eyes look up at her, then. Usually, Lana is the shorter one, but Mary on her knees proves to provide a great sense of tallness for the patient. The brunette can tell, before she even speaks, exactly what she wants. Her irises keep breaking contact with Lana’s, glancing at her lips.

 

“To kiss you.” Mary Eunice finally breaks, “I want to kiss you, and hold you. I want to know what it feels like, to love someone.” She pauses, bites her lip, and then adds, “To be loved by someone.”

 

How long, she’s been admitted here, Lana Winters finds herself not knowing. Vaguely, she knows it’s been one Christmas, two Easters. Somewhere along the line, in between the cracks of the bricks in her cell, Lana had come to accept she’ll never smell Wendy’s perfume again; The warm touch of her lover’s hands will not run along her sides anymore. But she looks at this broken, mess of a holy Sister on the ground - her pretty eyes, the way her hair over them - and she wonders if she might feel that from someone new.

 

“I can show you,” Lana swallows, her throat bobs with it, “I can show you how it feels. Then you’ll know, and you can decide if it’s what you want.”

 

It’s all lies, she’s lying to herself and to Mary. There’s an undeniable truth that Sister Jude would never loosen her grip on her favorite pawn. Even if the blonde had a big, sapphic rebirth, she’s stuck her as much as Lana is; and nobody is coming to get either of them out.

 

“What can you show me?”

 

There always - at least after the fresh heartbreak of being signed over like an unwanted dog by the love of her life had grown older - had been some attraction to the younger woman. She walked the halls like an angel lost in Hell, her very presence lit up a room. Mary Eunice, by far, was every patient’s favorite Sister. She held a certain kind of softness, from the freckles across her nose to the way she sang hymns as she baked.

 

“What it feels like to be loved.” Lana states, she looks at the rosary, clutched so tightly it strangles Mary’s fingers. It’s been so long, she barely remembers the teachings of her Sunday school teacher, but the older woman touches one of the larger beads. “The mysteries.”

 

Mary nods, she runs the pad of her finger over the same wooden ball Lana had. She feels Lana moving closer more than she sees it. The way her hair brushes against the nun’s shoulder, her breath against her cheek. Her own stutters, skips as Lana presses her lips to the side of her face, a fraction of an inch from her parted ones.

 

“I can teach you the mysteries of touch, Sister.” She can’t help but sigh, letting the words drip off her tongue. Lana’s body moves, she presses into the blonde’s side. Hands - cold from the unheated space - cause Mary to gasp when one trails across her back, under her habit. “The first one,”

 

Lana feels her own resolve crumble a bit, watching the Sister’s shocked expression. The older woman decides, then, to let Mary Eunice reign some control of her own fate. The lust covering in a film over large pupils, the journalist hovers where she stays. It’s an unspoken invitation, the way Lana holds herself steady and parts  her lips in front of Mary’s own. A sort of deal.

 

One which she gladly accepts.

 

The awkward pressure of Mary’s inexperience is only endearing, in the sweetest way. She closes her eyes tightly, she puckers her mouth. But her skin is smooth, she smells like the standard Braircliff shampoo, and she sighs. The nun’s breath rushes out of her, she very nearly tips over before Lana helps her balance.

 

“Kissing.” Lana states, she watches Mary hold tightly to her rosary. “You’re going to say your _hail Marys_ and I’m going to kiss you, okay?”

 

“How am I supposed to say anything if you-”

 

 _Oh,_ that’s unexpected. Mary’s question dies on her exhale as Lana’s lips find themselves on the blonde’s jawline. The open mouthed kisses are warm, and wet and Mary Eunice squeaks at the burning feeling they inspire in her belly.

 

Then, Lana pauses. It makes Mary frightened, like she somehow did something wrong. But she realizes, she has to start her prayers. Lana’s waiting for her to begin.

 

“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.” Like a toy rewound up, the brunette starts her ministrations again; she continues up her jaw. Lana’s nose bumps her ear, and then she starts down her neck. “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb, J-Jesus.”

 

Lana’s fingers pull at the neckline of her habit, moving the black fabric over so her mouth can suck bruises into the normally covered skin.

 

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners.” Mary’s face burns, her flush colors her nose bright crimson. She doesn’t know really if she feels hot with sin, or from the pleasantness of Lana’s actions. “Now and at the hour of our death. _Amen_.”

 

“Hail Mary…” She starts again, leans against the altar and tries to keep talking as Lana smothers the column of her neck with the same attention. The familiar prayer continues off her tongue, Mary Eunice’s attention  barely on the words she speaks, focus drawn to her companion and Lana’s breath getting heavy along with her own.

 

It feels like forever, how long it takes to rush through ten of the same repeated sentences. Especially with such a lovely distraction. But finally, she breathes out her finally _Amen._

 

“ _Good_.” The praise sends a line of fire down her front, blazes underneath her skin and settles in a puddle of flames below. Mary Eunice doesn’t hesitate When Lana tugs her off of the altar, kneels on the hard ground with the nun and kisses her. Her hands go to Mary hair, pushing the blonde’s veil off and letting it pool on the ground next to them.

 

Lana’s tongue swipes against her lips, pushes them until the younger woman understands and opens her mouth. It’s quite odd, at first, the way the journalist’s tongue pushes her own; and though it’s new Mary can’t help but let out a tiny, whisper of a moan.

 

When they part, Lana’s lips look swollen and pink. It makes the blonde reach up and touch her own, wondering if she is in a similar state.

 

“You did so good.” Lana can’t help herself, she reaches out and hugs the woman in front of her. It must be overwhelming, she thinks, if only the simple act of a kiss has Mary shaking like a leaf ready to fall from its tree. “Here, lay back.”

 

She makes sure to ease the blonde down, knees taking place straddling  Mary’s hips. and palms flattened on either side of her head. Her hair fans around her head like a halo, reflecting light and framing her eager expression.

 

“Next,” Lana murmurs, “Touch. Start, go ahead.”

 

At Lana’s encouraging nod, _Hail Mary_ falls off her lips. The older woman’s fingertips trail across her arm, over the curve of her shoulder. The kissing, she liked. But _this_ makes a foreign wetness coat her core, slicken her thighs as she presses them together. Mary stumbles through her first five, just from the ticklish sensation of Lana caressing her sides.

 

Then, she goes completely silent as the brunette’s palms set down on her covered breasts. Through the habit, Lana feels the bump of her nipples, and brushes her thumb harder against it. The shock of it makes Mary gasp, the noise echoes up into the tall space, bounces back at them.

 

“Hail Mary, f-f-full of grace.” Her voice sounds like it’s running out, with how it gets lighter toward the end. If it weren’t for Lana perched on them, her hips would be pushing up off the floor. “The Lord is with thee - Miss Winters!”

 

The yelp of the title and her name make Lana pause. She worries, _did I do something wrong?_ As Mary’s eyes pool with tears.

 

(It’s a shame, for such a kind soul to feel so much pain.)

 

But she squirms, not to get away; but to get closer. Her hands reach out and Lana reminds herself this is about _Mary Eunice,_ not her. There will be plenty of time later for that.

 

Both of their patience is thin, it snaps like a weak rubber band stretched beyond its ability. Mary, her chest moving too fast with irregular, swallow breaths, pleads with her,

 

“Please, Miss Winters. I need to, I need to…” She stops, there’s not exactly a word she knows to describe the lava that forms in her tummy, so she decides to put it plainly, “I need _you.”_

 

“Okay, I’ve got you.” Lana comforts, she feels her own heat pooling in her panties, wonders as she shifts down to straddle one of Mary’s bare thighs if the younger woman can feel the soaked cotton. With her habit pushed up, and her underwear still around her ankles, the older woman can clearly see the wiry blonde curls in front of her, the way the younger woman’s thighs shine in the colorful stained glass lighting.

 

both hands tap on Mary’s thighs, urging them to open for her. The blonde hiccups, she stares down her own body at Lana’s lustful gaze locked on her. There’s a voice, in the back of her head, that sounds like Sister Jude. One that scolds her, condemning her to the the pits of Hell.

 

(Lana’s eyes, Lana’s touch, the way Lana _rocks_ against her slightly. God would not create such a beautiful thing, without wanting someone to worship it as it deserves.)

 

All her thoughts on God, it turns out, quickly push out of her along with a long, high pitched whine. Lana’s fingertip, prodding at her center with a careful, light search. Mary Eunice’s right hand jump to grab at the journalist’s dress, gripping the fabric so tightly she fears she’ll rip it, the left one comes up to cover her own mouth in a desperate attempt not to alert the entire building of their activities. Her eyes pinch shut, she’s too fearful of the ripples of sensation the contact sends down her legs.

 

“You only made it through one decade,” Lana teases, and though she’s sure Mary hasn’t a clue what an orgasm is she still tells her, “I’m going to make you come, for each one you couldn’t do.”

 

 _Come -_ it’s such a simple, common word. Mary bites into her palm though as Lana speaks it. Something about the way the older woman puts unknown meaning behind it going straight to the blonde’s core.

 

The rosary is still wound around her hand, as it clamps around her lower face. The beads dig into her skin where her fingertips press down; if her mind was clear, she might of untangled it. But Lana starts moving her thumb in lazy, wide circles down _there_ and Mary fears if she tried now, she’d possibly scream without her palm to muffle it.

 

“You’re _so_ wet.” Lana coos, her eyes lighting up at the way her finger slides against the slickness it encounters. Mary Eunice, blubbering against her palm with pleasant noises, pauses. The brunette hurries to reassure her, “That’s good, you’re doing so good, Sister.”

 

The praising, Lana notes, seems to work her partner up further. The cross of her necklace falls off her chest with her rapid panting, the metal sliding off her habit to _clink_ against the floor. The journalist knows that the nun won’t last very long, especially if she keeps her thumb moving with a heavy pressure. Anxious to see the younger woman let go, she leans forward without stopping to take one of Mary’s fabric covered breasts in her mouth and bite down on it mildly.

 

Mary Eunice is a vision - coming on the floor of a sanitarium’s chapel with her habit bunched up around her stomach. Her back arches, her eyes shoot open to stare at Lana with something like idolization in her blue irises.  Her thighs shake so forcefully it makes her shoes tap against the floor; and she groans so loudly Lana can clearly hear her own name through the flesh that tries to stifle it.

 

It lasts, Lana could say, forever. She eases it down, uses her free hand to considerately pry Mary’s hand away to allow her to kiss the blonde. Her tongue swipes across her teeth, she feels like melting putty beneath Lana, lost in a post-climax haze.

 

“I’m here.” Lana soothes, she keeps her hand still nestled in Mary’s curls deathly still, “You’re okay. Hey,” She looks, really looks at the younger woman, and sees fat teardrops pool together in her waterlines, “Don’t cry.”

 

Trying to find her voice, her mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for breath. Her eyes flicker around; the stained glass scene of the resurrection, the candles burning, the dark brown wood of the pews next to them, and Jesus on the cross. She can’t help feeling sad, just a little, her chin wobbles for what feels like the hundredth time today. But Lana - _beautiful, amazing Lana_ \- made her feel so good.

 

She wonders if this is what Eve felt, eating the apple. Condemning herself from the Garden of Eden.

 

(If Lana was the snake, Mary Eunice would gladly take the bite over and over and _over-_ )

 

So when Lana embraces her with one arm, her voice close to her ear and lips touching the shell of it as she asks, “Do you want to keep going?” Mary notes the compassion, the worry and the care, but she nods softly. She isn’t frightened anymore. She looks at Lana as she sits back up, the older woman’s pupils blown large, and wonders how anyone could ever of been afraid of her.

 

This time, when Lana finally starts moving her fingers again, Mary is prepared for the fiery jolt it sends to the burning in her lower half. Whatever is the patient keeps her attention on is sensitive, an ache there that only fuels the newly discovered fire.

 

Mary Eunice worries her lip, wonders what Lana’s doing when she starts pressing her lips down, down and slinking back to instead kneel between Mary’s legs instead of sit atop one. Brown eyes stare up at her, brunette hair tickling the insides of her thighs. The blonde’s breath catches - hands going to run through the dark locks that frame Lana’s face as she smirks.

 

Gracefully, Lana switches places between her fingers and her _tongue_ ; the flat of the warm, wet muscle licking her in broad strokes. Without her hand to muffle it, Mary moans loudly, the sound hitching in her throat as she catches herself.

 

“ _Oh,_ Lana.” She sighs, legs spreading unconsciously as she stares down at Lana’s explicit kissing, the sound of it making her blush deeply as the other woman starts _sucking_ in just the right spot.

 

There’s a rough, heavy sound of breathing that feels too loud in the quiet of the chapel. Mary blinks, her head falls back and thumps painfully on the ground, and it dawns on her the desperate panting is coming from her own lungs.

 

Lana hums against her, it sends vibrations against Mary’s clit - hips tip up and fingers grip hair too tightly to keep the feeling in place. It builds faster _and_ slower this time; there’s no unknown cliff Mary Eunice trips off of, she can feel that wave coming up upon her. But Lana’s tongue twirls around her like she’s tracing letters, and she looks so pretty like that. Completely engrossed in bringing the nun back over the edge, it makes her orgasm race like a horse toward the finish line. Mary squeaks, she tries to squirm away from the overwhelming touch as she comes hard on Lana’s tongue. The blonde yelps when she is dragged back, her partner’s mouth never leaving her and one of Lana’s forearms coming to hold her down by draping itself across her lower stomach.

 

Mary Eunice fears for a moment, she might faint from the unrelenting sensations. With no break, she finds herself unreasonably close to falling over _again -_ and she tells Lana so.

 

“I’m going to, I’m going to - Miss Winters, _please!”_

 

Smiling against the blonde, Lana easily brings one of her fingers up and below her chin. She groans in time with Mary as she pushes the single digit in slowly, eases her lover into the stretching with her continued sucking. The blonde is tight and warm and she is _beautiful,_ she deserves everything Lana can give her.

 

The slow drag of the older woman’s thrust is nearly maddening, along with the way her finger curls forward with practiced ease. There’s a spot it hits, like a button that makes Mary moan out her name like a prayer.

 

Lana, Lana, _Lana._ Who could possibly pray to anyone else? When such a powerful force exists?

 

Lana’s mouth parts from her, her eyes hooded and her lips shining as she urges, “Come for me, Sister.”

 

So _that’s_ what that means.

 

Mary’s nerve endings feel like they’re on fire, hyper-aware of each touch. She breaks like a rotting wooden pole no longer strong enough to support its load; a scream threatens to erupt from her throat - she settles on bites it back into a series of chopped squeals. Lana’s finger leaves her, along with a rush of wetness that runs down her, onto the floor.

 

Her eyes close, and she only regains herself enough to notice her surroundings after a long moment. By that time, Lana’s back up, kissing her again. She tastes completely different - like _Mary._ It’s undeniably arousing.

 

There are still insistent fingers down below, and Mary Eunice makes a move to push them away. Lana steels herself though, doesn’t budge. At the blonde’s confused glance, she reminds her,

 

“I said four,”

 

Lana’s free hand brushes her bangs back, the older woman smiles down at her with such _love_ it warms each and every part of the nun’s heart.

 

“You still have one to go.”

  
  
  



End file.
